


PEMMICAN

by mountie_rider



Category: due South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountie_rider/pseuds/mountie_rider





	PEMMICAN

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather/gifts).



It was just a very short eighteen months since he began work as Constable Benton Fraser. He was busy, and had interesting situations to work with and cases that were not too dangerous. In fact, if it hadn't been for his usual training of the standard routine of the Royal Canadian Air Force Academy exercises, and the daily morning ten mile run, he might say he was getting a bit slow. He didn’t need or want anything at the moment. He was content, happy and interested in his immediate surroundings. This time off was a good diversion, he thought, as he got off the train from Toronto to here in Vancouver. It never mattered to him that he'd always been in Canada, He loved his homeland. He missed his mom, and for some reason wanted to take a trip to her homeland area, and his place of birth 29 years ago. He thought about how his mother had told him that it seemed to be kismet that she had met a man with the same last name on the banks of her favorite river in town, Fraser River. When they met, it was all bells and whistles from the first moment. When they camped on the river's edge three months later on their honeymoon, they both knew that their love had spawned another set of footprints, Benton's.

His mom always said that if a person was ever going to get a decent piece of pemmican, it would be at Sally Mae Johnson's Motel and Restaurant at the foothills out west of Vancouver. So, that was where Benton headed that cold winter morning with a hint of storm in the air, walking with his duffle bag from the train station. Boxing Day was over two weeks ago, and the resources of these local food stores and restaurants tend to get low after a great holiday demand of the stuff. He arrived at Sally Mae's and checked in for a one-night stay, and brought his duffle to his room that was conveniently located up a short four flights of stairs. After taking stock of the simple room, which had a full sized bed with an orange and blue tropical flower bedspread, white sheer curtains on a single window, a beige roller window shade half up, and a darn good sized restroom, he decided to go in search of that pemmican which was the only thing on his mind at the moment. 

Happy with securing the last quarter pound of pemmican in town from Sally Mae's own restaurant/carryout, he slipped the little pouch tied with twine into his outside coat pocket and quickly opened the restaurant’s door to leave, against a strong wind current which grabbed hold of the door and practically knocked over a woman on the door’s other side. He was beside himself. How could he be so clumsy? Never had this happened before in his entire life! He had to attend to the fallen woman. He hurried to her as she was lying on her side. She wasn't moving. Suddenly he noticed a smallish gesture of the waving of her hand back, as if to resist help. He couldn't tell whether she was in pain by any facial gestures because a massive amount of curly black hair seemed to be all over her rather tall and slim body. He thought that had never been with a woman that tall. All of the women to date that he was with were on the short side. He hadn't had a woman in at least eighteen months for sure. He had to get back to the task at hand to get the woman up. He touches her, sensing a lightning bolt of electricity throughout his lower torso. He asked her over and over if she was all right. She mumbles something, and he continues to feel helpless. He was a Canadian Mountie and didn’t know what to do. How embarrassing. He told himself to pull himself together. Finally, after what seemed like a day, she rolls over, rubbing her right knee, still on the sidewalk, and looked up at him, her perpetrator. She was clearly furious, as clued by the whiffing away of some of the luscious hair from her face, and the scowl around her kohl rimmed blue eyes. On top of all that – she didn’t button her short white fur jacket and now her blue jean shirtfront wasn’t buttoned either. The buttons over her bust popped open revealing her red bra. Benton was star struck by the Canadian red bra, but true to his training, quickly bent over to help her stand up. She was a beauty, all right. She had a mass of very long curly black hair, fair skin, dark eyes and a pouty, full set of lips. She wasn't as tall as he thought, just normal height. He would come to find out that she was as far from normal as could be. 

She got to her feet, and they made eye contact. She was brazen and stared him down a good five seconds so that he would be the first to blink, before she even reached toward her shirt to button it. She held his gaze all the while she was buttoning up. He looked at her, instinctively jutting out his tongue, as if trying to pick up more of her scent with it in the air. Although he should have been wondering about her condition, he just thought about how he'd rather have her to eat than the pemmican in his pocket at this point. His mind went to a version of that old joke about "Is that a pemmican in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" 

She felt irritated, mortified, angry and pissed off. Plus, her stupid knee just got jazzed up again by this dumb-ass moron who just opens the door and happens to knock her on her ass completely out of the blue. Blue, hmm. This moron had some amazing blue eyes, and why was his tongue sticking out like that? It had been a long time since a man's tongue had been this close to her. And why was he kneeling down? Whatever, he was hot, okay, but he was still a jerk. But she stopped thinking of his tongue and his eyes and his hair and got up to get going. She tried to get up but couldn't, because she was still dizzy. Then, she passed out. She fell in the same place he just helped her get up from.

His training set in and although he’s in an ivory cable knit turtleneck sweater and brown cords, he was ever the professional and leaned into her and gave her the smelling salts that he always carried in his back pocket for moments such as these. God, she smelled good, a blend of pine and patchouli, with an after note of bergamot. As he gazed at her, she opened her eyes lazily. She asked him what happened and he said it was his fault, he's ever so sorry and he wasn't watching and was she all right? She tells his to shut the hell up. He smiled at her and right then while she looked at him, she wondered if she fainted from the fall or because she swooning over him? Anyway, she was in his arms then, with her nose up behind his ear as she tried to stand. He smelled clean. She got dirty thoughts. He lifted her with his right arm around her waist, helping her to her feet. She still can't seem to focus and that right knee was so very painful. He softly told her that he thought she needed to rest, and without resistance she allowed him to help her stand up. He knew he could call for a doctor, or at least call for some help. But he didn't because he wanted to take care of her himself. He hurt her; he was going to fix her. He felt like he wouldn't be able to actually release her, as if feeling her body, any part of it, was key to his survival. He wanted to keep her; she was his, at least for the time being. Since his motel was virtually steps to the left in the next building, he lead her in through the open side door, next to the revolving doors and they went into the nearby elevator, with her still leaning into him, his arm around her waist. No one was in the lobby; no one knows she fell, so she is his alone, completely. They exited on the fourth floor, the top floor, and as Benton’s room was just across the elevator door in the small 150-year-old structure, he was quickly able to retrieve the single old-fashioned key from his pocket, which was under the pemmican, and opened the door in exactly 2.5 seconds. 

What was he to do with her now? He walked her over to the bed, and as he guided her to lie down, the same buttons popped open, and this time she didn’t reach to button them. Not a word had been exchanged between them since they entered his room. They both know she felt better, as the color returned to her cheeks and she looked at him deeply, not in pain, but definitely in need. How strange she felt. What was she doing here in this room with this gorgeous man? Yes, he did knock her down, but he helped her up, and she fainted again and now she's there. There was more going on here than simple first aid. Maybe he was a serial killer, or maybe he had herpes. But she felt energized, excited and warm and by golly, a bit creamy. How long had it been since she felt that way? She didn't even know his name. But that lent to the mystery of it all, she supposed. He was out of his comfort zone, but in a good way. He felt strong, primeval, manly, raw, focused and hard. Normally, he would have introduced himself. In fact, introducing himself was one of his favorite things to do. Since he became a constable, he especially enjoyed introductions. But in this circumstance, it felt different to him. There was something in the air going on between them. Something secretive, something almost ethereal happened. It was as if an angel appeared, and the apparition would be of such significance, that he wouldn't even think to ask it, "Excuse me, what is your name, please?" He therefore thought if it came up later, he would introduce himself, and so would she. And, as if reading his mind, she didn't offer her name either. He knew that one of his gifts was the gift of taste. And he wanted to taste every part of her. He moved toward her to lick her chest in the area right between her breasts right above the red material of the bra. It wasn't the taste of the usual cases he'd work on. No taste of engine fuel, dirt or tar. This was Benton's first taste of love. It surpassed sex. His gift of heightened taste sense wanted more. She offered herself to him, without thought of what kind of man he was. She wondered what kind of woman SHE was. She could then add the word "slut" to her list of acquired names since she left Chicago five years ago when she turned twenty-one. The other names she'd been called were burglar, thief, forger, liar and villain. But those names weren't what she was feeling like at the moment. For the past two hours, she felt deserved, honored, cared for and surprisingly loved. How strange, her gang down the street wouldn't have believed it of her. She wasn't known to be a bit sentimental. She began a new life at that very instant. Wanting to stay with this man, this awesome man who seemed to know more about her than she did herself, she was willing to give up everything from her dark life. All the excitement of planning the latest heist, sketching out the escape path and the blending back into the quiet life of her "real" job as a cover up. As a certified genealogist, she had access to many wealthy people who wanted to learn more of their illustrative ancestors. She met them at their homes and got the layout of their mansions, and returned at a later time to steal from them. For this man, she could go straight. He was more exciting than anything else. What was it about him? It didn't matter, all this thinking. All that mattered was the next second, the next minute, the next touch and feeling, the need to position her body closer and closer until he was inside her. When she moved above him, her already voluminous hair was so bountiful it covered them both. Her hair got in between them, under his arms, and then got stuck on a cragged upper tooth in his mouth. She tried to get the hair out from his mouth as she was over him by pulling on it from the tooth, and he closed his mouth when her index and middle fingers were in. His tongue encircled her fingers, warming them to meet the hot temperature in his mouth. 

They went on that way until late, way past midnight. Sex talk, moans, groans, a memorable squeal on her part and a few guttural grunts on his part. She was a rogue lover. He’d never been with a stranger before, climaxing uncountable times, yet not knowing her name, or divulging his, which seemed to heighten the sexual tension between them. He called down for food twice, but they didn’t want to waste time eating so they left the food on the tray outside the door each time. He remembered the pemmican in his coat, and brought it out. Using his Swiss Army Knife, he cut it for them to gain strength to keep on going. She hated the taste and idea of it, but he loved it. In between their sexual episodes, they began to talk using real word instead of just body language. Little by little they learned a bit about each other. His name was Benton Fraser, and her name was Victoria. He said he wanted to call her Vicky, because Victoria seemed so serious. She laughed and said the last time she was called that, it was by her mother. Vicky and her mother were both abused by Vicky's alcoholic and abusive father, who ended up killing both he and her mother in a drunken driving crash. That was when she was twelve. She was put in a foster home, where she learned the craft of thievery. Her foster father would bring home odds and ends and cash them in for money. She observed this behavior and listened intently to learn the trade and when she turned eighteen, she went out on her own. The first money she stole came from a petty theft of a purse of a person on a bus with her. She never told Benton any of that, she just told him of her "day" job, and about how she really did get a certificate in genealogy. She talked, and he listened and sympathized with her, felt sorry for her background. She cried and he held her, stroked her hair and kissed her eyelids until she stopped weeping. Then he talked and she listened, following each word by watching the movement of his lips, sometimes stopping him mid-sentence just to kiss him. She learned that he was a Mountie on holiday to visit the place his parents met, near the foothills, on the banks of the Fraser River. He said that, on his younger birthdays, his parents were proud to talk about how they met, married and conceived him while camping on the bank of the river. She laughed at this and he enjoyed her laughter so much that he began to tickle her to make her laugh even more. It made him happy to be there with her. It also made him hard again, so soon the laughter stopped and they got back to serious sexual business one more time. She was different than the other women he was with. She was exquisitely interesting, and somehow he felt that there was more to her than he had just learned. He learned that she was a Scorpio, the shortest in her now all deceased family, and a genealogist by trade. Looking into the historical records of a client in downtown Vancouver, she was planning to leave that day until he literally stopped her in her tracks. She spent the night with him, but said she needed to leave in the morning. They both fell asleep on one pillow for both their heads. They were that close to each other, and he loved the feel of her abundant hair on his back as she slept next to him, her arms wrapped around his waist in a spooning position. As Benton fell asleep, he knew he would remember this encounter, and not by rote but by her scent, her taste and the feel of her skin. His main investigatory senses discovered a gut wrenching love. This feeling of such intense passion would never amount to anything in "real life", but he was sure he would remain loving her until he died. He knew this without understanding why. She was his, and would always be. Victoria felt redeemed. It wasn't her first one-night stand, but it was her first time falling in love. Maybe she was good at heart after all. Benton was very smart, that was clear. And if HE told her she was sweet and wonderful (which he did in the heat of passion), she must be. She felt like a better woman just for having been with him. She felt redeemed. Maybe she should just stay with him all day the next day, instead of leaving. Maybe she didn't have to leave to return to her old dark life. Deep sleep overtook her before she made her decision. Benton awoke to the emptiness of the space next to him. In spite of himself, he moved his right arm over the still fresh indentation of the bed on his side. He rolled over to get a whiff of her there on the flannel sheets where he loved her for twelve hours straight the night before. He rested his head on his arm and his eyes went toward the small window where outside he saw the snow falling. He didn’t know what the weather was or what was going on in the world. He only knew of the world that the two of them created, their world. He had always thought in a singular view, now he thought in plural. The weather was nasty. At 9:05 AM the sky was medium to dark gray with swirling clouds, a 35 mph wind, and sleet pelting the windows of the front of Sally Mae's motel. Benton settled his bill in the lobby and thanked him kindly for a wonderful stay, planning on making the 9:45 AM train back to Toronto. Benton placed his duffel bag on the floor just inside the hotel doors to button up his navy, standard issue pea coat. Just as he put one foot out of the hotel, bullets rang out to his left. The alarm of the bank at the end of the block sounded. Turning quickly to his left he saw four black clad figures carrying black bags run out of the bank. They got into a dark blue pick up truck. One of the guys had a gun and shot a rapid revolver that hit the lone security guard at the front door of the bank. Two black clad figures with black ski masks got into the front seat and two in the back cab section. They turned the far corner and sped off northwest after squealing their wheels. Benton immediately ran after the pickup truck. Even though he was on foot, he gained on them due to the poor road conditions. The truck slipped and swerved and at one point stalled in an ice divot in the middle of the road. On the street immediately before the foothills, just a couple of blocks away, an old bread delivery truck backed out of the delivery ramp of “Cowboys” food store. The getaway vehicle must not have seen the truck backing out because it rammed directly into the passenger side of the truck, turning the pickup truck on its side and sliding on its passenger side fifty feet further down the street. At the same time, two Vancouver police cars screeched to a halt and three officers exited the vehicles. Three of the burglars ran one way. The police soon reached and overtook them. The fourth burglar, the driver, ran off in the opposite direction. Benton quickly surmised that he could attempt a takedown and began to run fast. He quickly looked back and saw that the local police had captured the three other guys and the bags of loot from the bank. They looked at him and pointed in Benton's direction toward the foothills of the mountain range. The weather turned even worse and the ice quickly turned to freezing mounds of snow that whitewashed the rugged trails in the woods. This was treacherous territory considering the weather and darkness. He chased the dark figure up the side of the mountain despite the icy terrain. If the runner got into a part of the forest where their footprints would be covered by the falling snow, and hold out for a while, the chances of his escape was good. Benton had no intention of losing his prey, but as they got up higher in altitude, he had trouble breathing. The runner began to limp and lost a few steps. Benton saw the runner look back at him, but only saw masked face. The runner lost his footing and fell forward out of Benton's sight. Benton used this opportunity to punch ahead as hard as he could. He didn’t see where the runner was until he heard a muffled groan. In the shearing wind and blowing snow it was a miracle that he heard it. Hanging off the side of the mountain was his target. This was going to be tough, how was he going to manipulate himself over the edge to grab hold of this guy? Benton got down on the ground, hooked his feet behind him between the limbs of a nearby overgrown bush. Before Benton could get a sure grip on both of the runner’s ungloved hands, one of them slipped out of his grip. He grabbed the other hand and pulled back, first grabbing the forearm and then the other arm, lifting up the robber to the firm plateau. All of a sudden a horrifically strong gust of wind rushed upon them, and the force of the wind almost pushed them both over the cliff. Benton looked around frantically for some type of shelter. He spotted a giant fallen oak that was about ten paces away. If he could get over there to the other side of the tree, they could get out of the wind. The burglar stumbled and fell, and as he went to make the catch, the heft of the body wasn’t as heavy as he thought it would be. He pulled the body by the underarms, and got both of them over the massive tree, which sat about four feet high. As soon as they were over, he was glad that he found a hollow in the tree because it did cut the force of the wind. They were close to the side of the cliff, and the raw force of the storm caused Benton to wonder what their fate would ultimately be. He hoped that the police would be on his trail, and would find them any minute. He returned his attention to the perpetrator. He pulled out the small container of smelling salts and was reminded of the past few days. He couldn’t get the smelling salts close enough, so he grabbed onto the base of the burglar's ski mask in front and pulled it off. He was shocked to see his recent lover’s face. He squinted, shook his head and couldn’t put the pieces together. What was going on? It was she, his Vicky. The smelling salts worked and she came to and opened her eyes. She saw him, and since she had looked back at him during the chase, she knew it was Benton. She closed her eyes to avoid her shame of him finding out that it was her who was the bad guy. Yet at the same time she had enough gumption in her to attempt to escape from his grip. He was holding his captive tight and so at her first movement, she screamed with pain, as her knee was injured. She winced and groaned, and she was freezing with no overcoat on, wearing only sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He knew she would go into shock soon if he didn't act fast. He opened his pea coat and lay down next to her, pulling her to him, shoving the snow away from them on the ground inside the tree hollow. He got very close, and was horrified to discover her icy cold body temperature. He moved their bodies together to maximize coverage. He tugged her facemask back over her face, not being able to tuck her massive hair inside. His tongue instinctively touched his craggy upper tooth and he remembered her in his bed. Even at this time, even though Vicky had turned out to be a criminal, he couldn't stop the instinctual nature of his feelings for her. This was the woman that he swore to himself to love until he died. A vow he made to himself was just as important to keep as a vow to another. His mother taught him that. He slipped one hand of hers behind his back inside of his coat, and put the other one up between them. Benton looked into her eyes and told her that she had to keep going. She closed her eyes again and he was worried that she was going into some type of shock. He screamed and shook her. He was conflicted. He should be arresting her, but instead that was the last thing on his mind. She uttered incomprehensible words, the same words over and over again, like a prayer. As he put his lips next to her lips, he could feel the weak movement of her lips. He took her fingers, all of them on one hand, into his mouth to keep them from getting frostbite. The last time her fingers were in his mouth was back at the motel. He wanted more than anything to be back there with her, not here. If he would have known then of Victoria's true nature, and that she was planning to rob the local bank, he wondered if he could have stopped her somehow. He wondered if he could have still loved her somehow. Was it worse to know and not be with her, or to know and be with her? They were there together for a very long time, both of them almost losing consciousness. Some time later, helicopter shown a huge, bright light on them. The weather had lifted and somehow they were found. He wanted to take her home with him. He even planned it all in his mind before he drifted off. But now it was impossible. The police came to rescue them and they would soon collect her, and put her in jail. He thought about what to say to them, what to say to her and what to do. His moral code was violated in every way. What happened between them was unforgettable. But so was his code to the Mounties. The Mounties always got their man, but they never said they could keep him.


End file.
